


Bullet

by angerwasallihad



Series: Behind the Curtain [2]
Category: Major Crimes (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen, Letting it go, Mother!ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 12:30:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3120248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angerwasallihad/pseuds/angerwasallihad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'She’d been fighting the urge to jump in front of this bullet sailing toward Rusty for weeks now, since before she even knew what the bullet was. She’d held back and let him come to her. She’d sat back and watched, calling out directions and advice as Rusty tried to catch the ball of hot metal in his bare hand.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bullet

The Volvo was still absent when Sharon pulled into the parking garage that night. Sharon tried to keep herself from worrying too much as she looked at the empty parking space to her left. There really was nothing to worry about. It was only 6:30pm. And Rusty had said it would probably be 7 or 8 before he got his mother ready to go. There was absolutely no reason to worry. But knowing the conversation Rusty was probably having with his mother at this very moment, Sharon couldn’t help but agonize and worry. 

 

By the time she made it to the door of the condo, Sharon was mentally rehashing and second-guessing every moment of their conversation from that morning. Perhaps she should have told him immediately that the prescription was suspect and stopped suppressing her baser instincts to handle this entire Sharon Beck situation herself instead of standing back and allowing Rusty to bring her into it when he was comfortable. But no, she silently reasoned as she turned the key in the door and entered the apartment, it was absolutely imperative that he be completely in control of this situation. Maybe she should have insisted on accompanying him tonight. Sharon stepped out of her shoes and hung her purse just inside the door. That probably would have been a mistake as well, she thought. She had done everything right, everything she really could do; but there was still that permeating desire to save Rusty from any more bad things that weighed heavily on her mind. 

 

Shrugging off her jacket, Sharon walked barefoot across the room toward the kitchen, illuminating the room as she went. She poured herself a glass of wine when she reached the kitchen. Leaning over the counter before her, her hair fell in thick waves in front of her face, the wineglass settled just below her chin, the bottom of the glass falling squarely between her two hands placed firmly palms-down upon the smooth surface. She took a few slow deep breaths before straightening again and bringing the wine to her lips. She felt terrible about this entire situation, but the knowledge that Rusty was even more miserable made her feel, if that was possible, worse. 

 

Suddenly the irony and utter insensitivity of Sharon’s choice in beverage hit her, and she dumped her glass in the sink. She knew she didn’t have a problem, but the hypocrisy of seeking comfort in a glass of wine given the present cause of her chagrin was just beyond insensitive. She was rinsing the glass in the sink when the click of a key in the lock met her ears. Sharon looked up in surprise, placing the wineglass on the draining board and quickly wiping her hands before turning and looking around the corner toward the front door. Her body still mostly in the kitchen, Sharon saw Rusty as he walked through the door before he noticed her. 

 

“Hey.” 

 

Rusty looked up, his eyes now meeting hers across the condo. The skin around his eyes was red and they only met hers for a fleeting moment before dropping back down to his feet. 

 

“Hey.” 

 

He shuffled over to the couch and tossed his bag carelessly on a chair beside him as Sharon watched. She automatically opened her mouth to give her usual gentle reminder about not throwing his bag around, but immediately closed it at the dejected look on his face. 

 

“You’re home early. I was just about to order a pizza. How’s that sound?” 

 

Rusty’s head snapped up and turned back to her in the kitchen, suspicion written across his face. “You were _not_ about to order a pizza, Sharon. You’re feeling sorry for the foster kid and his utterly screwed up situation, so you’re throwing him a bone and acting all casual about it.” 

 

Sharon closed her mouth, frowning, then opened it again. “I was—“

 

Rusty sighed. “It’s sorta your M-O, Sharon. But it’s cool. I’ll get us a pizza.” He pulled his bag back towards himself on the couch, removing his phone and some schoolwork. 

 

Sharon chuckled a little to herself as she watched Rusty dial the number on his phone and order their usual pizza (half pepperoni, half veggie and feta cheese). She was still considering the back of his head fondly from her place in the kitchen when he hung up the phone. She saw him drop it onto the couch beside him before he seemed to curl in on himself, the back of his head disappearing behind the cushions as he sank into the couch, seeming to make himself as small as possible. 

 

Moving quietly and deliberately, Sharon moved away from the kitchen and around the couch to sit in a chair across from Rusty, who was now sitting with his knees pulled under his chin and his face hidden behind them. 

 

“You know Rusty, you’re not just some foster kid to me.” She reached up and pulled off her glasses, hooking them on the collar of her blouse and bringing both hands to rest on her crossed legs. “And I really was going to order a pizza.” 

 

Rusty’s face emerged from behind his hands and knees. He shot her a look of disbelief and opened his mouth in protest. 

 

Sharon held up her hands in mock surrender at his look and cut him off before he could speak. “Well maybe not.” Her voice was light, soft. “But I was serious about you.” Rusty looked away, finally lowering his legs, bringing his feet back to the floor without a word. Sharon looked up at the ceiling briefly. “I guess it didn’t go so well with your mother tonight.” She chose her words very deliberately, careful not to push or lead him somewhere Rusty wasn’t yet comfortable. 

 

Nodding into his lap, Rusty remained silent. Sharon saw a lone tear roll down his face. 

 

She had always taken such pride in protecting Beth and Ricky from their alcoholic parent. Jack had never shown up drunk to a public family event. He had occasionally been dangerous, yes. But Sharon had always been careful, and he had never been a danger to her children. Her children had never had to pick up their drunken father. Even when he traded in the bottle for gambling and lost the beginnings of their college funds, her children had never suffered or had to deal with any of the consequences of Jack’s actions. Sharon had made sure of that. 

 

Beth and Ricky had suffered from his absence. She knew that. When Jack had unexpectedly turned up at Beth’s recital, drunk out of his mind, Sharon had blocked him from entering, hoping Beth hadn’t seen him yet. Ricky had never known when Jack had thrown up all over his favorite shoes in the hall the night Jack had shown up on their doorstep in his usual inebriated state at three in the morning. Sharon had let him sleep it of on the couch and stayed up most of the night scrubbing Ricky’s shoes clean. After Jack drained their college funds a few years later, Sharon had never let on to her children. Sharon was their buffer, every moment of every day since she’d realized that her husband had been replaced by this angry broken man ruled by his addiction. Ricky and Beth had never bailed him out of jail. Never spotted him cash they couldn’t really afford to part with but knew they’d never get back. Never opened their wallet to discover that their father had stolen from them. 

 

Instead they had suffered absence. 

 

Sharon had made the decision that an absent father was better than a thieving, drunken, dangerous one a long time ago. She had barred the door when he appeared inebriated. She had blocked him from her children’s view when he was unfit. Stood in front of them and handled whatever catastrophe he needed out of this time. Made it inescapably clear that his children were off-limits where his addiction and finances were concerned. Sometimes she wondered if it had been the right choice. She’d always held onto a glimmer of hope that someday he would be the father they deserved. But the question still nagged at her some nights before falling asleep. Was a distant, absent father better than a bad one?

 

Looking down at the defeated, broken young man before her, Sharon knew the answer. 

 

She’d been fighting the urge to jump in front of this bullet sailing toward Rusty for weeks now, since before she even knew what the bullet was. She’d held back and let him come to her. She’d sat back and watched, calling out directions and advice as Rusty tried to catch the ball of hot metal in his bare hand. 

 

But considering the teenager before her now in his forlorn and disconsolate state, Sharon realized she had been wrong. The bullet wasn’t sailing towards him. It wasn’t even airborne. It was embedded in his back. And she hadn’t even known him when it was fired. Skin and muscle had grown over it, cushioned it, hidden it. Until Sharon Beck’s arrival, like a magnet, had caused it to rise to the surface. For weeks, Sharon had been calling out advice and gentle instruction on how to catch the bullet, when really he needed to know how to cut one out. 

 

Somehow, jumping in front of a bullet was easier than digging it out.

 

“She said a lot of things.” 

 

Rusty’s voice was quiet, hoarse, as he continued to stare down at the couch. 

 

“That it was my fault.”

 

Sharon closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She had expected that. But it didn’t make it hurt any less. 

 

“That, like, she couldn’t stay sober because I’m not—well, normal.” 

 

Her eyes snapped open at that, breathing in sharply and opening her mouth to speak. But Rusty   stopped her before she had even formed the words. 

 

“No, wait. Don’t say anything yet, Sharon.” 

 

Finally Rusty looked up at her, his glistening eyes meeting hers across from him.

 

“I need to say something. And before I say it, I just need you to know that like, I know how bad it sounds. But I need to say it and for you not to hate me, Sharon. I just really need you not to be mad. Okay?” His fingers twisted in the hem of his shirt, fidgeting anxiously.

 

Sharon extended a hand, slowly, cautiously, until it finally came to rest on top of Rusty’s fidgeting fingers, stilling them gently. “I could never hate you, Rusty. You know that.” Her own eyes had filled with tears now too, but she didn’t look away from him. She held his gaze steadily,  waiting. 

 

“It’s just, like, when I was driving home today, after she said all those terrible things…” He leaned back against the cushions, looking up at the ceiling as Sharon withdrew her hand and he continued quietly. “I sort of wished that maybe you didn’t love me like you do. Because maybe then it wouldn’t hurt so much that she doesn’t know how to love me. Like maybe if I didn’t have you, I wouldn’t know what I was missing.” He paused and was quiet, looking down at his hands. 

 

When Sharon was sure he was finished, she uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, shifting her weight onto her elbows resting on her knees. 

 

“Hey.” She reached back over and brushed her fingers lightly over his knee. “Give me your eyes.” His face slowly rose to her eye-level again. “You,” she whispered urgently, “are normal. You are just right. And I wouldn’t change a thing about you.” She let her hand rest gently on his knee. “I know that this hurts right now. It hurts you in your very soul. But I also think that someday—probably not today—but someday, you’ll be able to understand the way your mother loves you. Because she does love you, Rusty.” 

 

He nodded slowly, and Sharon started to lean back again in her chair, finally moving her hand from his knee. But before her hand could return to her side, Rusty caught it in his own, holding her fingers tightly in his palm. She looked up at him quickly in surprise and smiled reassuringly. Something wordless passed between them in that moment. Some intangible connection. Sharon squeezed his hand briefly, rubbing his knuckles with her thumb softly, their joined hands falling casually into the empty space between them. 

 

It might have been minutes, or just a few seconds later when Rusty released her hand, mumbling something about homework. 

 

__________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Sharon and Rusty had spent most of the evening in companionable silence. He knew she had a report to file now that the case was officially over and left her mostly alone. She was thankful, but to a certain extent his silence worried her. Even though she thought she had gotten through to him during their conversation the previous night, there was still something nagging at him. She could tell. And the words his mother had spoken to him last night, at least what Sharon had surmised, were the sort of thing that haunted you for decades. 

 

_“If you hadn’t gotten pregnant—“_

 

_“What? Say it. You wouldn’t be a drunk? Oh please. You were drinking before you even knew me. You were just better at hiding it.”_

 

_“I_ **_told_ ** _you I didn’t want a family. But you didn't care.”_

 

_“Yes. I proceeded with a callous disregard for consequences, and you were what? An innocent bystander in this scenario?”_

 

_“No. But it was your fault._ **_You_ ** _made me this way. It was you.”_

 

Sharon pulled herself out of the unpleasant memory with an effort, trying to focus on the report in front of her again. 

 

But then Rusty’s phone began to buzz on the table in front of him. They both looked up, Rusty’s eyes finding hers for a moment. They both knew who it was. Sharon’s gaze didn’t falter. She’d been here. Lots. But Rusty was right. This was something he needed to handle on his own. She watched him pick up the phone. 

 

“Hello?”

 

Sharon could see him steeling himself for what was to come, and Sharon marveled at how prepared he seemed. But then she remembered: he’d been here lots too. Only then he’d been a scared kid trying to take care of his mom, getting slapped around every other week with that woman in the other room getting high. Sharon consciously stopped the images flowing through her mind and tried to listen to the conversation casually. She could only hear Rusty’s words and guess what was being said by his expressions and replies. 

 

“Okay.” 

 

Tearing her eyes away from Rusty on the couch, Sharon tried to at least appear to be working on her report while still watching and listening intently. 

 

“Yeah. I know.” 

 

Rusty’s expression was still curt, his voice betraying no compassion. She could guess at what Sharon Beck was saying. She knew the whole routine by heart at this point. 

 

_“Shar? Are you there?”_

 

_“What do you want, Jack?”_

 

_“Well—Listen Shar. I know I said some terrible things last night. It was cruel. And I didn’t mean it. I love you. Always will.”_

 

_“What do you want?”_

 

_“I’m in kind of a bad situation. I need you to come pick me up.”_

 

And she’d gone, of course. She always did in the beginning. 

 

“Wait, wait, wait. Sarah was supposed to pick you up?!” Rusty’s voice had risen now, angry. “I thought Signal Hill was driving you to the half-way house. Who **is** Sarah?” 

 

Sharon gave up all pretense at the desk now as Rusty’s words confirmed her fears. Sharon Beck wasn’t going to stay sober. And she was using Rusty yet again. Would it be better if she were surprised? It didn’t really matter. Because she wasn’t. Not really. She was watching Rusty steadily from the desk. He wasn’t upset or worried as she had expected. No, he was angry. 

 

She saw him jerkily remove the phone from his ear now and check the time. “It’s eleven-thirty p.m., Mom, and the only reason I am up this late is because I’m studying and I can’t help you.” 

 

Now Sharon could hear indignant cries emanating from the phone. She still couldn’t make out the words, however. 

 

Rusty was shaking his head in that way that signaled a change from anger to frustrated disbelief. Sharon knew that expression well, both on his face over the last two years, and on her own for the last twenty-five. She was once again visited by the urge to leap across the room and shield him from this latest emotional barrage. But she couldn’t do that. Given his background, allowing Rusty some control over his life was one of Sharon’s primary concerns. Especially since that control was actually safe and in his best interests now that no one was trying to kill him anymore. No, she couldn’t jump in. She had to wait until he extended an invitation. 

 

“You got out of rehab last night, and you are already drinking?!” 

 

Sharon could see Rusty beginning to completely lose his cool, utter disbelief written across his face as he tried and failed several times to find the right words to respond to his mother. It reminded her of that moment when Ms. Rios had thrown that ugly word, “whore-phan” in his face all that time ago. He was struggling, just as he had then, so angry and upset and disbelieving that he couldn’t quite get his tongue around the words. 

 

Seeing this as her opportunity to leap across the room without actually doing so, to save him from this bad thing from which she would do anything to protect him, Sharon closed her computer and looked him straight in the eye calmly. His panicked face met her impassive one and he seemed to pull himself together slightly. 

 

“It was not a little fight,” Rusty said angrily into the phone, looking away from Sharon again. “It was a big, terrible bunch of lies that you told me.” She saw him take a deep breath before continuing adamantly, “I am not responsible for your drinking! And I am not driving you to the half-way house. Go back to rehab and start over. Good-bye.” Rusty disconnected the call and tossed the phone back onto the table, still obviously angry. 

 

She watched him silently for a moment, torn between her sadness for Rusty and this entire situation, and her pride in the direct and admirable way he had handled Sharon Beck. There were people much older and wiser who would not have been able to stand their ground so successfully, herself included. It had taken her a long time to find a way to draw a definitive line in the sand with Jack. Finding the courage to be so honest and direct with someone you love was always difficult. 

 

Finally Sharon opened her mouth and said the only thing she could think of. “I’m so sorry.” 

 

Rusty looked at her and replied, “That this happened, or that she’ll only call back?” 

 

Sharon was silent for a beat. She would call back. They both knew that. 

 

“It sounds like her on the phone, I know, but it’s her addiction talking, not your mom.” 

 

Rusty swallowed. “Why do I even care anymore?” he asked, and his phone began to vibrate again on the table. 

 

She spoke deliberately, watching Rusty unwaveringly. This was the important part, she knew. “‘Cause you love her. And because you don’t want to give up hope that one day, she’ll be well.” 

 

Rusty picked up his vibrating phone and turned it off. “But not tonight.” He dropped it on the table again and glanced over at her. 

 

Seeing that he seemed to want to say more, Sharon raised her eyebrows; an invitation. 

 

“I heard what you said last night,” he said slowly. “And just now. About loving my mom. And I know what you’re saying.” 

 

Sharon nodded slowly, allowing him to continue. 

 

“I just wish that she could love me as well as you do.” 

 

Her shoulders slumped slightly at his words, not in personal disappointment; in sympathy, in sadness for him, in bitter disappointment at his despair. She took a deep breath. “We love you in different ways, Rusty. Just like you love us each a little differently.” Rusty nodded thoughtfully, and seemed ready to let the matter rest for the moment.

 

She smiled sadly at him from her place at the desk, then pushed herself slowly to her feet. “I’m off to bed now. You about finished?” She pointed at the notebook on the table by his phone. 

 

Rusty got to his feet as well. “I’m not going to get any more studying in tonight.” 

 

Sharon gave him that sad little smile again and walked closer to the sofa to switch off the lamp on the table. Rusty picked up his phone and his bag from the coffee table and walked with her to the hall. She started to walk ahead of him towards her room, but he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. She turned, and he pulled her into a hug. There were no tears this time. No adrenaline brought on by knife-wielding psychopaths. No declarations or confessions. It was quiet. Comfortable. 

 

She pulled away first, stepping back and bringing her hands up to cradle his face for a beat, just as she had after that first emotional hug. She held his gaze for a moment, then leaned forward in an uncharacteristically instinctive move and brushed her lips across the side of his head, near his temple. Then she stepped away a little awkwardly. 

 

“Goodnight, Rusty.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you are not too disappointed with the somewhat shorter length and the near-absence of flashbacks. I’m trying not to recycle things between this fic and The Ties That Bind, therefore fewer flashbacks so I can put all my good stuff in a fic that’s actually about that relationship, among others. Anyway. Thanks for reading, reviewers get internet chocolate, and don’t forget to come find me on Tumblr!


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